Journaling

I love experiencing ink flowing out of my pen onto paper through the movement of my hand. I marvel that words actually convey meaning to others. I've always loved writing, but didn't start journaling until college, spurred on by an assignment in my freshman psychology class.

After this I wrote regularly for about 6 years, but what started out nakedly honest became a checklist: adorations, confessions, thanksgivings, supplications. It actually wasn't completely this structured, but I lost touch with the joy of writing. Since then I've given up checklist living. I just can't measure up. More than this, though, I now know that I don't want to measure up because this measure is crooked.

When I returned to journaling in 1997 it was truly a godsend. My husband gave me my first journal. It was beautiful and had a # 1 written on it. So perfect for me. It represented a beginning and it truly was. Journaling is my safe place. When I returned to the practice I promised myself I would not censor and if possible no hiding. For the most part I've kept that promise.

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My blog writing serves another purpose. With much encouragement from my husband and others it's been an anonymous space for me to find another voice. It's a shared space, more public, but still a relatively safe place for me. It's been a very good way for me to exercise this other voice, take courage, and give it a platform so to speak.